


Buttons

by Mr_Customs_Man



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F, Spanking, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:18:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5185058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Customs_Man/pseuds/Mr_Customs_Man
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Templars were always watching, but that doesn’t mean Solona and Neria can’t have a little fun with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buttons

Solona Amell remembered very little of her life before the Tower. She dreamt sometimes of a fair-haired woman, her face obscured by time, holding her tiny hand in hers as they strolled through a garden. She liked to pretend that this woman was her mother, though it was far more likely she had merely been a nurse. Solona often wondered what her mother was like: was she beautiful? Intelligent? Kind? Did she still love her?

She must, otherwise Solona would not have been afforded the many luxuries given her. “That color is simply exquisite against your skin, Milady,” the Orlesian merchant crowed, clapping his hands enthusiastically as Solona pulled out a large swath of deep blue silk from his wares. She held it up, twisting and turning it to make the candlelight dance across the silver thread embroidered along its edges. “Why, you would look like a queen in a dress made of that! Here, what you need are peacock feathers along the shoulder, yes, yes, this dress will be a work of art!”

There was a certain… understanding amongst the Chantry and those apprentices who came from noble families. Most mages who came to the Circle were commoners and had to make do with whatever the Circle provided them, but Solona was no commoner. She was an Amell. She had never received any letters - or if she had she was not permitted to know about them - but her parents did send her a monthly allowance, held in trust by the First Enchanter. She merely had to ask for something and it was provided. If she tired of the gruel the kitchens forced upon the apprentices three days a week, she could order one of the servants to serve her roast swan and custard. If she wanted new clothes, a messenger would be immediately dispatched to retrieve the finest tailor Denerim had to offer, and there was nothing Greagoir or anyone else could do about it. Oh, the Knight-Commander would glower and grumble and send guards to dog her every step; he thought the First Enchanter afforded her too many luxuries, and that it was only a matter of time before she began abusing her wealth and privilege. Solona did not much care what he thought; he could not stop her, not if he wanted the Tower to fall into ruin. Her family’s money was important to the Circle, and Greagoir knew that. The First Enchanter received a portion of her allowance in exchange for these little privileges, money that was used for Kinloch Hold’s continued upkeep. Besides, it wasn’t as though Solona was the only noble girl taking advantage of her position. Most mages from high-born families had their own rooms and valets. The Chantry did not like to spend more money than necessary on its Circles, so the only income the Tower received was through the Formari and donations provided by the wealthy families of mages, such as the Amells.

“What do you think, eh?” Neria asked from beneath one of the merchant’s many hats. It was a mass of red velvet and brilliant white plumage; it was so large that it covered her eyes and all Solona could see was her wide, grinning mouth. “I bet I’m prettier than the Queen of Fereldan.”

An undignified squawk erupted from the merchant’s lips, before he hastily covered it with a cough and a frozen smile. “I’m sorry, but I am afraid none of my wares were made to fit someone like you,” the merchant said through clenched teeth. The very idea of an Elf wearing one of his precious hats was enough to horrify him. “These samples I brought were designed for humans. They are far too large for you.”

“Large?” Solona echoed, her voice light and airy. “I had no idea that I was such a fat cow compared to my elvish friend here.”

Alarm flashed across the merchant’s face. “What?! No! That is not what I-”

“I would like to place an order of three dresses for Miss Neria Surana,” Solona continued on as though she hadn’t heard him. “Two in the Nevarran style and one from that Antivan book you showed us - you liked the yellow one, didn’t you Neria? - yes, that one. Well, what are you gawking for? You’ll need to take her measurements, yes?”

“The cost-”

Solona waved her hand as though the merchant was nothing more than an annoying fly. “Do not bother me with talk of money. The First Enchanter will see to your payment and rest assured you will be compensated most adequately. Now, will you take her measurements or do you insist on wringing your hands like a little boy? She is not going to bite - well, not unless you want her to - so go on, do as I command.”

The merchant hopped to, carefully avoiding Neria’s eyes as he held up his measuring tape. The elf giggled and lifted her arms, holding her head up high like a real noble woman would. Solona smiled serenely as she turned back to the mirror. She had heard that humans outside the Tower could be downright awful to Elves; even some of the Templars spoke disdainfully to their elvish charges here. She never understood why. It seemed so silly to her. “I think I want a dress made out of this fabric. I want it low-cut in the front, in the Orlesian fashion. I hate these Fereldan robes the Chantry gives us. Why must they go all the way up to the neck? It looks so matronly! Oh, and how do those Orlesian ladies make their bosoms seem so… large and high?”

“They use corsets, Milady,” the merchant explained. “I have several different styles.”

“Perfect. Are you finished? Good, get out. I would like to try on a few things and I’d rather not have you standing about gawking at us.”

The merchant slunk out of the room, muttering something about ‘nothing you have could possibly interest me.’ Cullen stepped aside to allow him through the door, shifting awkwardly in his heavy plate. “Perhaps I should fetch one of the female Templars?” He asked.

Bright peals of laughter filled the room. “Don’t be silly, Cullen!” Solona said as she sauntered up to him. “You’re not a man; you’re a Templar! Do be a dear and do me please.”

Solona watched with a little smirk at the way Cullen’s eyes grew big and round, his mouth flapping uselessly. “W-what?”

“My buttons. Do my buttons. They’re hard to reach and so fiddly.” She turned around, brushing her long curls out of the way to reveal the nape of her neck and a long trail of buttons running down the length of her robe.

Cullen threw a quick glance at Neria, who sat on the floor surrounded by piles of fabric with her nose buried in one of the merchant’s fashion books. She seemed oblivious to what was going on. It was just buttons. Surely his commander wouldn’t be angry if he simply helped her with her buttons? It wasn’t like he was undressing her- well, actually, that was exactly what he was doing, wasn’t it? He slowly reached out and touched one of the tiny buttons that adorned her robe.

“Oh! Not with your gauntlets, please!” Solona scolded. “The fabric will get caught in the metal and tear.”

“R-right, of course.” Solona could hear the clattering of metal as Cullen attempted to strip himself of his gauntlets with shaking hands. She shared a quick, knowing glance with Neria just as she felt his fingers press against her back. One by one the buttons slipped free, baring her skin to the Templar’s gaze. His fingers rested for a moment on the last one, at the base of he spine where the swell of her arse met her back. Whatever naughty thoughts that seized his mind must have been pushed away for he quickly completely his task and then pressed himself against the door to put as much space between them as possible.

Solona turned her head to give him a smile, “Thank you.” And with little flourish she let the robe drop from her shoulders and pool at her feet, revealing her nakedness.

The Templar actually squeaked at the sight. “Your smallclothes…” He said, his voice tight and laced with equal amounts of fear and lust.

“Hm? Yes? What about them?” Solona asked as she moved away, keeping her back toward him.

“You’re not wearing any!”

“What would be the point? I came here to try on clothes. Fereldan has no sense of style; we’re still wearing loincloths and mamillare while the Orlesians have corsets and pantalettes!” Solona sighed as she came to a stop in front of the large, floor-length mirror, conscious of the fact that Cullen could now see both her font and her back at the same time. “It’s barbaric, really, to force us to wear such dangerous contraptions. Loincloths can cause injury to the most delicate part of a woman’s body. You have never been a woman, you know nothing of how wet and moist a woman’s body becomes.” Her small, pale hand trailed the length of her body. It followed the curve of her stomach, tickling the soft, smooth skin, before dipping low to the folds nestled between her legs. “How little control we have over it. Even now, I’m soaking, ready to be filled. Look how easily my fingers slide inside.” She dipped her fingers inside, groaning. “That is why we should start wearing pantalettes. They’re crotchless, so that the cool air can flow over our flowers, instead of confining them in rough linen.”

Solona watched Cullen’s face in the mirror, at the way his eyes remained riveted to her fingers, drinking in the way they pistoned inside her. He was transfixed, as though bewitched by a Desire Demon, yet still he did not move, did not reach out to touch. He stood at his post. Such a good little Templar. Solona grinned and pulled her fingers free. “Cullen, fetch us some wine. I’m thirsty.”

The command seemed to break him of the spell and for a second he lingered by the door, debating whether he should follow the orders of a mage like a common servant or stand at the door as the Knight-Commander had tasked him to do.

“Cullen!” Solona called out in that sing-song voice of hers. She had turned to face him, her bare breasts bouncing with each step she took. His eyes lingered for a moment at the way they moved, wondering if they would jiggle just so if she was on top on him, straddling his thighs and riding him hard- Cullen quickly moved toward the table, his face scarlet with shame and embarrassment. With shaking hands he poured two glasses of wine, spilling much of it across the wood surface.

When he turned back around he saw that Solona was half-way done putting on her corset. He had read about corsets in an Antivan novel that one of his fellow Templars kept hidden underneath his mattress, lest the Knight-Commander confiscate it. He had imagined a confining contraption with laces running down the back that were meant to be pulled to force a woman’s body into unnatural shapes. The garment Solona wore bore little resemblance to the pictures in the book. It squeezed her waist, but it did not look particularly torturous, but rather… flattering. The top dipped just below her nipples, forcing her breasts to rest high on her chest. They jiggled and heaved as Solona sucked in her breath and wrestled with the…

“Buttons?” The word was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Solona smiled. “Oh, would you? Thank you for offering. I’m just having a damnable time with this last one.”

The last one was nestled right between her bosom. If he was to do it up for her, her breasts… they would be… He would have to touch them…

Cullen thrust a glass first into Solona’s hand and then into Neria’s before quickly retreating to stand guard by the door once more.

“Thank you, Cullen!” Neria said as she turned back to the book.

“Yes, thank you,” Solona agreed. “If all Templars were as sweet as you I’d daresay we needn’t have to worry about anyone trying to escape from the Tower. The apostates would be banging on the door to be let in.”

“Absolutely, why I- Oh, dear!” The elf cried out in dismay as wine spilled out of her cup and onto a bolt of green brocade that laid next to her. “I am so sorry, Solona! I would pay for it, you know I would, but I haven’t any money!”

Solona sighed deeply. “Do not worry, I will take care of it. Still, it was awfully careless of you. You really need to learn to pay more attention. I think you should be taught a lesson. Tell me, Cullen, how do the Templars punish one of their own when they fail to take proper care of their uniforms?”

“With a flogging,” he answered as he tried to keep his eyes from wandering.

“Well, I haven’t a rod anywhere, but I think we can make do. Come here and bend over,” Solona commanded as she sat down on one of the benches, patting her naked thigh.

Neria pouted as she slunk over towards her friend, like a little girl about to be chastised. She draped herself over Solona’s knees and lifted her dress to reveal her bare arse to Cullen’s gaze. Solona gently ran her palm over the smooth, brown skin before suddenly striking against her flesh. With each new hit Neria whimpered, but it didn’t really sound like she was in pain. She moved, her bottom wiggling with every little adjustment that she made- but she wasn’t moving away from the blows. She was moving towards them until she was no longer sprawled on top of Solona, but resting on her knees with her thighs spread. In this new position, not only could Cullen see the round globes of her arse, the bright red marks that had bloomed across her skin, but also the wet folds of her cunt. Solona’s hand moved away from her bottom to press inside the quivering flesh.

Solona and Neria looked up at the sound of a door banging against stone just in time to see Cullen flee the room, bow-legged. “Damn it,” Neria grumbled as she slid off of Solona’s lap to sit next to her. “I thought we had him for sure this time.”

“Well, he did leave his gauntlets. He’s going to have to return if he wants them back. The question is: what position is he going to find us in?”


End file.
